


Words

by TheLadyFiction



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Adoribull - Freeform, Bull being a big sweetie, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, M/M, Post-Demands of the Qun (Inquisition), Tal-Vashoth Iron Bull, mutual comfort, mutual understanding, post-Redcliffe, self neglect
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-29
Updated: 2016-05-11
Packaged: 2018-06-05 05:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6691687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheLadyFiction/pseuds/TheLadyFiction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bull doesn't quite understand, but he knows Dorian is hurting. He has always been one to look out for the well-being of others, and there is something between the two, though neither can quite place it yet.</p><p>Lots of hurt/comfort, feels and Dorian being stubborn.</p><p>Rated explicit for later chapters.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The first few times The Iron Bull noticed the flash of light that signalled the rotunda window opening, he had ignored it.

It was just visible in the far corner of his vision, and he knew exactly what it was; that window was in the cosy little alcove that Dorian had taken up daytime residence in. He knew the Tevinter liked to watch him practice with the Chargers, much as he denied it, and it was safe to say that Bull liked to put on a show, even if he pretended not to notice.

The mage had been nothing if not prickly around him, though for that he could not blame him.  
Hundreds of years of conflict and prejudice between their races was not going to be erased by a few smiles and a round of drinks, though even that had been progress.

Haven had been mutual ground, both new to the encampment, and though Bull had his chargers, like Dorian, he stood out, but even he got less suspicious whispers and glares than the mage drew.

The Fereldens natural distrust of Tevinters was obvious, even now, when Dorian had done nothing to garner suspicion.

In fact, with he and the Inquisitor growing ever closer, he was nearly always on the front line whenever Evie decided it was time to venture out to rally resources for their cause, as was Bull.

 

Evie knew his intimidation factor was useful, and they had avoided many a confrontation so far, with many of the scared, younger recruits letting out frankly hilarious screams of terror as they ran away at the sight of the muscular, hulking Qunari advancing on them with a war axe the size of them.

It was a tactical decision, though Bull could not complain. Evie was good company, after all.

Combine his raw physical power with Dorian's skill and that of Evie's incredible magic ability and either Sera or Varric (it always came down to a coin toss) or Cole if the buzz in Skyhold got too much for him, and they became a force to be reckoned with.

 

And they were out in the field, now more than ever.  
Since the demise of Haven, the group dynamic had changed.  
The attack had been terrifying, to say the least.

An army of red lyrium riddled Templars advancing, a fucking dragon, of all things, and the menacing figure that was Corypheus, one who claimed to be a god and seemed to have the force behind him...

And yet Evie had stood, alone against him, even after Dorian and Bull had both been ordered away despite their protests. Evie had stood, bought the mountain down on him and saved all of their lives, seemingly at the cost of her own.

 

Yet, despite all the odds, she had emerged at the top of the hill to their makeshift camp some hours later, bruised, frostbitten, exhausted but _alive_.

For Bull, the Qun explained a lot of things, but _that_ was not one of them.

 

Even when he'd written about the events in his reports, the only reply he'd gotten from his commander was a warning to lay off the Ferelden ale and stop listening to silly Andrastian childrens' fables or come back to face the re-educators.

 

If there was one thing the Qunari did not like, it was events that couldn't be explained away under the Qun.

A massive tear in the sky that rained demons, a supposed Tevinter magister apparently returned from the dead, commanding an archdemon and a human mage who had walked physically in the fade all definitely fell into that category, and it made them nervous.

Bull wouldn't have been ordered into the fray if it wasn't.

 

Yet now, Bull was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on his mission as events continued to unfold around him, being drawn into situations he could never have even imagined, with Dorian being at the centre of more than a few of said situations.

 

The walk from Haven when they believed the Inquisitor had perished was the first of such situations.

Dorian had definitely taken the whole Corypheus thing personally, and it was understandable.

Along with the Venatori plot that seemed to be woven into the destruction and fear across the country, Tevinter seemed to have a lot of responsibility for the horrors unfolding, and, irrational as it seemed, Dorian seemed to shoulder the burden of responsibility for his home country and the actions of his people.

After all, it was the action of his mentor that had drawn him to Ferelden in the first place, to put a stop to Alexius's schemes, to stop his homeland falling into further disrepute.

Some good that had done.

 

Now, he was treated with more distrust than ever. He had given blood, sweat and tears to the Inquisition, put his trust and life in Evie's hands every day.

And Bull saw, more than just this mage, thousands of miles from home, thrust into a society that disliked his presence and treated him as a threat; he saw himself.

Sure, he and Dorian had bantered about it in the field, both men flirting back and forth, as was their way, both self assured and cocky, but it was built upon the same defence mechanisms, Bull had come to realize.

Both were outcasts in their own way.

Dorian had left Tevinter willingly, albeit with more reason than most.

But Bull had been sent. Sent away from home, from his people, those he had grown up with, his Tama... handing himself over to the re-educators had been one of the hardest decisions of his life, but one he knew he had to make.

And now, looking back, he knew it had been the right choice, even if it had led him down the path of a Tal-Vashoth, it had also led him to his Chargers, to the Inquisition, to his friends, and now, it was leading him straight to Dorian, he was sure of it.

 

And so, here he stood, in the training yard, trying not to look up at the rotunda as the glass caught the last of the sunlight not smothered by the darkening clouds that now rolled across the sky menacingly, threatening rain and lightening to come.

The game of cat and mouse had been building for some time, Dorian seemingly running from Bulls advances, but always stopping to look back, to make sure Bull was chasing him. It had become quite fun, their conversations becoming more and more risque and lewd, pushing boundaries on both sides, testing the water.

And then, as they stopped at camp, longer, more detailed talks followed. Covering cultural differences, weapons, skills, hobbies... they were really beginning to see beneath each others facade; to open up.

 

Then Redcliffe had happened.

The letter Dorian had received, the hasty trip out through the Hinterlands.

The Magister. Dorian's father.

 

Bull hadn't been at all surprised when his entourage attacked, almost a natural response to seeing a Qunari, he supposed.

Fortunately, he had only caught one shot of electrical energy in the shoulder, staggering him but not doing much damage, before he found himself engulfed by the tingling energy of a barrier.

Dorian's barrier.

Oh, the look on his father's face; his runaway son, defending a Qunari against his own kin, what a sight.

The venom that had spilled from the Magister's mouth after was vile. Disgusting things, laying Dorian's perceived flaws bare in front of his companions, trying to drive them away, then changing his tone, trying to draw Dorian back to Tevinter, to leave the Inquisition.

The mage had fled after a tirade of abuse directed at his father, and no one could blame him. Not after what they had witnessed, what they had heard.

 

Talk of the blood magic ritual the Magister had tried to use on Dorian, to make him, in his eyes, 'acceptable'. Bull pretty much had to drag Evie away from Redcliffe kicking and screaming, both of them seething, filled with rage.

Dorian did not stay at the camp that night, instead electing to head back to Skyhold alone. To clear his head, he said.

No one had protested. He was powerful enough to defend himself and smart enough to stay out of trouble.

 

It was only when Bull arrived back at Skyhold, trailing slightly behind the Inquisitor and Varric that he felt a pang of panic in his stomach at the possibility that Dorian had not made it back, or decided not to return. It was then he realized their game was coming to an end.

He would make his move soon, he had to, for his own sanity.

 

The Qun didn't exactly do a great job in explaining how to handle emotions either, and Bull always found the best way to be a round of great sex or two.

Plus, if Dorian was looking for some kind of release from all the tension of Redcliffe, it may turn in his favour in some way.

After all, there was no denying the tension between them, though it had been a few days since their return since that little window had opened.

 

With the sky now threatening to split open and soak them all, Bull ordered the Chargers to pack up their gear and get a well deserved drink, throwing a casual look up at the rotunda as he did so, the window slamming shut almost immediately.

Bull couldn't stop the smirk that crossed his lips.

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull doesn't quite understand, but he knows Dorian is hurting. He has always been one to look out for the well-being of others, and there is something between the two, though neither can quote place it yet.
> 
> Lots of hurt/comfort, feels and Dorian being stubborn.

He had needed to send the letter anyway, he reminded himself as he headed up, past Solas' unusually empty floor and up the curved stone stairwell.  
Said letter was clutched tightly in his hand, the seal on it already slightly worn. He had been torn as to whether or not to send it; a letter to his old Tama...

But after what Cole had said, he couldn't ignore the nagging feeling of guilt that hid away inside him. If there was any chance she was concerned... She was the closest thing he had to a mother, as close as any Qunari got to one. He had to let her know, that everything was ok. That he was ok.

There was nothing incriminating in the letter, to the unknowing eye, just in case it got intercepted. But he remembered their secret code, the one she had taught her younglings, in case any of their combat mentors ever got too rough.  
“Nug-pox is very catching,” she used to say with a wink, keeping them back from training for a few days, with a new mentor always replacing the violent ones. She was always too caring, too sweet.

A shiver of fear ran through Bull as he headed up the stairs.  
He hoped dearly that nothing bad had come of her. Hoped that no-one had taken her kindness for weakness. Hoped that she had never been subjected to the re-educators...

He shook his head, pausing for a breath.

Maybe this wasn't the best time to talk to Dorian, after all. Maybe he should just send the letter and leave.  
Being emotionally compromised was not something Bull dealt with well.

With another deep, steadying breath, Bull continued up the stairs, unable to draw his eyes away from Dorian's alcove where the mage stood, leaning against the stone of the rotunda wall, gazing unfocused out of the window to the courtyard below.

On hearing Bull's heavy footsteps, Dorian turned to see who was approaching with casual interest, his eyes widening when he saw Bull's huge frame moving into view.

The mage looked terrible, Bull noted; his usually pristine hair mussed as if it hadn't been tended to in a few days, his usually prominent moustache beginning to disappear into the dark stubble now creeping across the lower half of his face. He wore no khol around his tired looking eyes, his usual traditional Tevinter garb looking somewhat worn down now. Bull did not need Ben-Hassrath training to see how worn down the mage looked. 

He was a broken man, his eyes scanning Bull's for... something, as he turned slightly towards the Qunari, stopping after realizing what he was doing.  
Bull offered him a soft smile, unsure of how to approach him.  
This Dorian was much different from the one he was used to, the cocky, somewhat arrogant and self assured genius who took part in their exchanges.

This Dorian was a shadow of that man, expression unsure, eyes full of hurt, hands hanging uselessly at his sides as he opened his mouth as if to speak, seeming to think better of it and snapping his jaw shut, turning back towards the window abruptly.

Bull couldn't help the falter in his step.  
Whatever else was happening between them at this point in time, Dorian had become what, he supposed, could be considered a friend.

They drank together in the tavern, exchanged anecdotes and stories they had heard about each others cultures, walked together on their travels, fought together, ate together... in fact, Bull mused, this was one of the longest times they had not spoken for in the time since they had come to Skyhold.

And Bull was not the kind of person to let his friends suffer.

He moved past the alcove and headed around to the next set of stairs, the rotunda surprisingly empty, though it was almost time for the kitchens to start handing out the evening meal. He almost glanced back as he formulated a plan in his head, only hoping that Dorian would still be there when he returned.

Leliana was sat on one of the barrels at the far end of the rookery, perusing some intercepted mail from a recently discovered spy within the kitchen staff who had been hired by some wealthy noble or other to try and poison the Inquisitor.  
She couldn't help but let out a snorted laugh when she read through the details of their plan, so poorly laid out that it would never have worked, even if the boy hired hadn't tried to tip the poison into the Inquisitors' chalice in front of the kitchen staff.

Shaking her head with a smile, her attention was drawn to the ravens squawking, heralding the arrival of another in her space.  
Her smile only grew when she saw Bull's horns appear over the floor level as he ascended the stairs, his gaze meeting hers almost instantly and a goofy grim stretching his lips.

“Hey, Red,” he grinned, eyes narrowing seductively. He did like to wind up the spymaster whenever the chance arose, and she always repaid in kind.  
“Bull, what a pleasure to see you,” she smiled back, winking playfully, her usual greeting and a friendly mocking of Bull, which was met by a small chuckle.

The two spies, both masters in their trade, had spent much time together after Bull had become Tal-Vashoth, exchanging information about vulnerabilities in the Inquisition, in its defenses and its people.  
It turns out the Qunari had pretty much been planning to take over the Inquisition from the inside once Corypheus was defeated, and try to take the rest of Thedas that way.

And judging by their attention to detail, it may just have worked, had they not tried to make Bull choose between his chargers and his faith. 

As far as he was concerned now, there was no question at all.

“Got a letter to send,” he said softly, waving the roll of parchment at her. The bard smiled kindly, giving a small nod.  
“You don't need to tell me anyone, Bull. Unless you're sending secret reports to someone else now?”

Bull gave a small, sad smile.  
“Nope, not reports. More...” he paused a thought. “More just checking in,” he finished, walking to the bannister where the correct raven perched, studying the horned giant with its beady eyes, loud squawks escaping its sharp beak and he gently tied the parchment onto its leg.

“Won't they know the letter is from you?” Leliana asked, puzzled as she watched Bull carry the raven gently to the window, ever so gently cupping it in both hands.

“Hopefully not,” Bull responded quietly as he let the raven go. It let out quite a ruckus as it took flight, adjusting to the weight of its load. Bull was silent as he watched it disappear into the darkening sky.

There was definitely a storm coming tonight.

“They don't really have a reason to read letters sent to Tammassrens,” Bull smiled at Leliana, eyeing her suspiciously. “How did you know I was sending it back to Par Vollen, anyway?”

The bard smiled, winking at Bull again.  
“Just a hunch,” she assured him, a tone of laughter in her voice.  
She suddenly sounded years younger.

Bull shook his head, letting out a snort of laughter.  
“You would have made a fantastic Ben-Hassrath. I don't think they'd have ever let you go,” he chuckled.  
Leliana only smiled in response, seeming to mull over the words.

There was a beat of comfortable silence between them, a mutual understanding, as the ravens squawked and fluttered around them.

Finally, Leliana moved to shuffle her papers, signalling the conversation was drawing to a close.  
“Was there anything else you needed help with, Bull, or was this just a passing visit?”

Normally, Bull would have responded with a lewd comment or proposition, but today, there was something else at the forefront of his mind.

“No,” he smiled, turning to leave, hesitating. “Well... actually, maybe.” He crossed his arms, one hand moving underneath his chin, face thoughtful.  
Leliana watched with interest, waiting for him to continue.

“You're up and down a lot, right, Red?” he began, unsure how to approach this.  
“Um... yes, I suppose I am,” she responded carefully, guarded. She was obviously unsure of where Bull was going with this.  
“I, uh.” He stepped closer to her, quieting his voice a little. “I don't suppose you've noticed if Dorian has... if he's left at any point? In the last few days. At all?” 

Bull cursed himself for stumbling over his words like a lovestruck new-horn, knowing he was probably giving himself away.

Leliana smiled for a moment, processing the information and coming swiftly to the conclusion Bull had wanted to avoid, but her smile quickly faded.

“You know, now that you mention it, he has been in the library a lot of late...” She paused, eyes widening a little. “In fact,” she lowered her tone, “I cannot recall the last time he was not there,” she supplied, thinking back over the past week or so; Dorian had seemed to exist solely in his alcove, always offering her a friendly smile, albeit one that never quite reached his eyes nowadays.

Leliana's expression suddenly turned very serious.  
“This is about what happened in Redcliffe, isn't it?” she looked to Bull, scanning his face as if he was hiding the truth from her.

“That would be my guess,” Bull sighed, feeling somewhat deflated. “ Seeing his asshole of a father must have dug up some serious shit for him.”

The spymaster gritted her teeth, moving to the bannister and looking down the rotunda, scanning for any sign the Tevinter may be listening in to their conversation.  
“Would you like me to inform the Inquisitor?” the redhead said as if thinking aloud, bringing one hand to her chin in a thoughtful pose. “She and Dorian are quite close, maybe she could help.”

Bull frowned a little. Surely she had already been to see, him? Dorian and Evie were thick as thieves nowadays, or so it seemed, almost always in each others company.  
Leliana studied his face carefully, trying to read him.

“She has been very busy, of late, Bull,” Leliana spoke softly. It was a de-escalation tone, he recognised. She thought he was getting angry.

“Good guess, Red,” Bull smiled, trying to put her at ease. He as almost as worried for Evie as he was for Dorian. Neither were very good at keeping up with things like eating and sleeping, it seemed. “I'll tell you what, let me talk to him, see if I can get him to at least get some rest. If I can't, I suggest we tell the Boss.,” Bull suggested, looking over the bannister himself, on edge, in case Dorian heard them.

Leliana looked surprised for a moment.  
“You?” she asked, trying to hide some emotion. “But... no offense, Bull, you're...”  
“A qunari, I know, the horns kind of give it away,” Bull smirked.  
“But... he is a Tevinter... your people...”  
“Are not us,” Bull concluded. “Look, I know it's weird, but a lot of crap here is weird. I mean, there is a spirit kid living on the top floor of the tavern.”  
“Point taken,” Leliana couldn't hide the smile that slipped across her lips. “Very well,” she agreed after a beat. “Try to convince him. If there is truly nothing you can do, I will look into other options.”  
Bull smiled, a genuine smile for a kindred soul.  
“Thanks, Red.”  
“You're welcome, Bull,” she grinned back as he took his leave, heading back down to Dorian's floor, his heart beating oddly hard in his chest.

 

Bulls legs felt heavier than normal as he neared Dorian's alcove, a fluttering in his chest he could not place. It was not normal, he concluded after a moment, but in fairness to him, nothing in this situation could really be considered normal; a Qunari attempting to find the best way to comfort a hurting Tevinter? Their ancestors would be turning in their graves.

The mage was still at the window, appearing not to have moved since Bull had last passed.  
His hair was getting longer, Bull noted, the dark locks now sweeping down, almost chin length, and utterly unkempt.  
Bull had a sudden urge to run his fingers through it and untangle the knots. He quickly quashed it.

This time, Dorian gave no sign he had noticed the Qunari as he approached, his gaze firmly set on the slit of sky visible through the now slightly opened window.

Bull took a cautious step forward, almost past the bookshelves, towards the mage but hesitated.  
His mind was going at a hundred miles per hour, thoughts swirling.

What if he ignores me completely? What if he attacks? What if he's drunk? What if he walks away?  
He shook his head, trying to quiet his mind.

'This is what happened when a man who thought about every possibility has nothing to care about, no reports to write and no plan of action to formulate' he told himself taking an almost steadying breath.

But looking at Dorian again, his figure slouched against the wall, looking utterly defeated, Bulls confidence fled.  
He was not versed in matters of family and disapproval, and Dorian deserved someone who was. Someone who could help him, understand him.  
And Bull knew, he was not that person.

With a quiet sigh, he went to turn heel and head back to Leliana, to inform her he would head to the Inquisitor now when a few murmured words stopped him head in his tracks.

“Astaarit, asaaranda. Ebasit shi.”*  
Bull was frozen for a second, unsure. He may have misheard, but Qunlat was a language hard to mistake for any other, and he was sure it had come from Dorian.

“What did you say?” he asked softly, taking a step towards the mage.  
Dorian's lips turned up for just a moment, the hint of a smile.

“I apologize,” he turned to face Bull now, his eyes tired but the slight upturn still on his lips. “My accent must be atrocious. I must admit, it has been some years since I practiced.”

Bull was taken aback.  
“I'm surprised you know any Qunlat at all,” he admitted, fully in Dorian's alcove now, the only space seperating the two filled by the winged chair Dorian favourited when they had first arrived in Skyhold.

The mage gave a soft chuckle.  
“Well, I don't blame you. It's not exactly encouraged in Tevinter,” Dorian mused. “In fact, in Minrathous, there is severe punishment for anyone caught studying or speaking Qunlat, they are that afraid of spies. So, naturally, I had to learn at least some!”

There was a small sparkle to Dorian's eyes now, as if something dormant had begun to kindle in them. Bull gave a laugh, genuine and sharp, and the mage's smile grew for a moment.

Only for a moment though.

Bull watched closely as he stood from the wall, giving subtle stretches to his arms and back, flexing his muscles. His movements were still and Bull couldn't help but wonder how long he had stood there.

“In any case, I apologise for butchering your language, I just thought that it may be nice for you to hear your native tongue.” Dorian gave a deep sigh. “I know I often miss mine.”

Bull thought for a moment.  
“Say it again,” he requested. Dorian's eyes widened, processing the words before he realised what Bull meant.

“Astaarit, asaaranda. Ebasit shi,” he repeated, the end of the words sharper now, as his tongue remembered how to form the words.

Something in Bull fluttered, memories of his home rolling in like waves, bittersweet but warming.

“Incaensor et formosa,”* he replied softing, staring at Dorian now, measuring his reaction. The mages eyes widened once more, his mouth dropping open momentarily before curling up into a larger smile.

“I should have known that you would know Tevene,” he admitted with a grin, the words seemingly arousing the same feelings that Bull had expereienced from his. 

Dorian thought hard for a moment, the cogs of his brain almost visibly working before he carefully spoke out each syllable of another phrase.

“Meraad astaarit, meraad itwasit, aban aqun.”** He gave a triumphant smile when Bull nodded, a lump beginning to rise in his throat.

“That's a Ben-Hassrath phrase,” he said softly, tone pensive. “It's a favourite of the commanders. Helped remind the us that no matter what happened to us, no matter how tough the days got, our faith was unchanged and the Qun was always right.”

Bull let out an almost derisive snort.  
“What crap that turned out to be.”

Dorian felt a pang for the Qunari, despite his own pain. It was easy to forget just how much everyone in the Inquisition had lost or given up thus far.

“I'm... I'm sorry, Bull,” he bowed his head, concerned he had caused the warrior upset. “I only wanted to...” Dorian swayed a little on the spot. Bull did not notice, too wrapped up in a web of memories he was desperately trying to untangle himself from, his eyes closed, head slightly bowed as he tried to quell the emotion rising through him.

“No, it's fine, Dorian,” he finally spoke, taking a breath, clearing his mind. There was more to work through than he had previously thought. “It's just been a rough...”

Bull looked up and startled a little; Dorian was swaying quite erratically now, reaching one arm out to steady himself on his armchair, his skin turning almost white.

“Vashedan, Dorian!”  
Bull almost winced as the word came out, unbidden. “You look like shit.”  
“Always the flatterer,” Dorian replied flatly, narrowing his eyes at the Qunari. “I'm fine, honestly. Just a bit of a headrush.”

“You're so full of crap,” Bull responded angrily, earning himself another glare. “You think I can't tell how little you've been taking care of yourself? You haven't left this building since we got back from Redliffe, have you?”

Dorian's face softened, his features returning to a defeated look, eyes turning back to the floor.  
It was the only answer Bull needed.  
“Let me guess, you haven't eaten, slept, bathed or drank nearly enough in that time either?”

The mage opened his mouth as if to voice a retort, but seemed to think better of it, his weight becoming harder to hold up, his lean on the armchair increasing, sending it screeching a couple of inches across the floor.

All the anger in Bulls mind washed away as the mage neared collapse.  
“Damn it, Dorian,” he growled, moving forward to grab the mage by the waist. Dorian panicked, unsure of what to do, raising a hand to Bull in defence.

This stopped his movements immediately; he did not want to incite a fight of any kind, but it was clear that even exhaustion and near unconsciousness were not a damper on the mage's stubborn nature.

“What...” Dorian shook his head, eyes blinking heavily. Everything in his vision seemed to be swirling.”What do you intend to do?” he asked, noting that his voice was beginning to slur. But that wasn't possible, was it? After all, he hadn't had a drink since yesterday.

“I mean to help you,” Bull reassured, putting his hands up in a 'surrender' motion, trying to calm the mage. “I only want to get some food in you and help you rest.”

Dorian's tone turned venomous.  
“I don't need help, Ox,” he spat, though the force behind his words had faltered, his eyes unfocused again, the swaying of his body beginning to overwhelm him. “I don't... need any... anyone to...”

Darkness encroached on his vision as he began to fall, the last thing he registered in his mind, not the hard crack of bone on concrete, but instead, two strong, muscular arms breaking his fall.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is something that started out as an idea for a drabble (like most of my fics) and just kind of snowballed!
> 
> I am updating this and my other fics as regularly as I can, but between having a 4 month old baby, going back to work off maternity leave, finishing a game I've been making and trying to twitch stream whenever I can, it's been a bit manic!  
> Anyway, enough about my life!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, please leave a comment if you did or if you have any suggestions or creative criticism!  
> Thank you!  
> Also, credit to http://katiebour.deviantart.com/art/My-Tevene-Reference-244347437 for some of the Teve translations! <3
> 
> Translations:  
> “A thunderstorm rises. It is glorious.”*  
> “Dangerous and beautiful.”*  
> “The tide rises, the tide falls, the sea is unchanged.”**


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull doesn't quite understand, but he knows Dorian is hurting. He has always been one to look out for the well-being of others, and there is something between the two, though neither can quite place it yet.
> 
> Lots of hurt/comfort, feels and Dorian being stubborn.

They must have made for an odd sight, Bull mused as he pulled Dorian's silk sheets up the unconscious mages well defined torso, noting the goosebumps that rose over his skin, peaking his dark nipples and causing him to let out an involuntary groan in his sleep, shifting slightly.

Thankfully, Dorian's room was not far from his alcove, but they must have caused quite a scene, Bull carrying the passed out Tevinter, bridal style.  
Dorian would not be happy when he awoke at the rumours that must now be circulating Skyhold.

Bull tucked him in fully, having gotten him out of his clothes and given them to one of the many maids around Skyhold who happened to be passing by the room to wash, thanking her and making a bright blush rise to her cheeks as she fled with the filthy robes.

Now, Dorian was sleeping at least, one thing off the list, Bull went to prepare the next three.

__

Pain radiated through Dorian's head, like he'd been beaten about with a mallet. Inhaling sharply, he tried to move, to open his eyes and take stock of his surroundings. Was he still in the library?  
No... he was in a bed with silk sheets... his bed?

He groaned loudly as he cracked one eye open, sunlight streaming in through the crack in the wooden shutter across the window and, as luck would have it, right into his eyes. He raised a hand to shield himself, beginning a slow shuffle up the bed, trying to sit up.

His body felt as if it were laden with lead weights, stiff and heavy, difficult to move. With much grunting, groaning and struggling, he finally managed to get into a sitting position, his head throbbing in protest at his new position.

What had happened?  
This was definitely not a hangover headache, the throbbing duller and louder, and it wouldn't explain the weight in his limbs.

Closing his eyes again, Dorian tried to think, finding it difficult through the pain. The last thing he recalled...

_He had been in the library, watching a storm roll in, thinking about the small notebook he had hidden in the study of his family home, between two of the most boring biographies he had ever read, those of two magisters he could not recall the name of. The books were deep crimson in colour and even covered in dust, stood out on the shelf, but held little interest for him or anyone with any literary taste.  
They were only useful as a hiding spot, the thin, delicate little grey pad which he had bought in a back alley one dark evening for eight royals and clutched tightly to his chest, feeling the thrill of the forbidden as he had made his way home, paranoid at every sound, wondering how his father would react if he were to be arrested whilst in possession of a guide to basic Qunlat..._

Qunlat... The Iron Bull.. he had been watching him practice with the Chargers in the yard, had a perfect view.

His muscles straining under the weight of his long sword, the elegant movement of his limbs as he launched himself at the training dummy, his bellowing laugh, echoing even up here... I should tell him.. I should...

And then Bull had looked up at the tower, as if party to his thoughts, and Dorian had slammed the window shut.

Then, in what seemed like no time at all, Bull was there, in front of him smiling, friendly, all Bull had ever been, and he wanted to tell him, oh he'd wanted to, but words had failed him.

What was he going to say again?

A sudden loud bang outside the door made Dorian jump, some angry muttering following the sound, the handle turning slowly.  
The door opened to reveal The Iron Bull, crouching to get through the door, glaring at the frame.  
“Damn low ceilings,” he muttered to himself, too focussed on giving the wood a death glare and balancing the piled up tray in his hands to notice Dorian awake and sat up in bed. “Stupid Fereldens and their hornless stupid...” he turned his attention to the bed after he closed the door behind him with a swift kick, flinching as it slammed shut.

“Shit,” he mumbled, looking to Dorian, his eyes widening as he saw the mage awake and staring back. “Dorian!”  
A soft smile crossed his lips. “You're awake!”

“Observant, aren't you,” Dorian croaked, surprised at his own voice. It was quiet, cracked. He was suddenly aware of the parched feeling in his throat, glancing around for water.

Bull was almost immediately moving to him, placing the tray delicately on the trunk at the end of his bed.  
The Qunari moved so gracefully for him imposing size, Dorian mused, watching warily as he picked up one of the tankards on the tray and bought it to him.

“Here,” the warrior smiled. “Drink. You definitely need it.”  
Dorian had no argument to make as he licked his chapped lips, swallowing with difficulty as his mind processed the sight of the water, every fibre of his being screaming at him to drink it, his head pounding now more than ever.

He let out an involuntary whimper, temporarily overcome by the painful swirling in his mind, so taken by it that he did not register Bull's strong hands over his own, guiding the tankard to his lips and helping him to drink until the water was nearly all gone.

Without the strength to protest, he allowed the Qunari to help him, stealing glances at the warrior as he concentrated on helping him drink, his eyes focused, the emotion in them apparent but implacable, lips tight together, all of his attention on Dorian.

He could not help the flutter of his eyes as the cool liquid hit his stomach, the feeling exquisite. He briefly wondered on how long it had been since he had drank.

Somewhere in his mind, he became aware of Bull murmuring soft words to him, the Qunari now sat on a chair that had been drug next to the bed, one hand now on the back of Dorians head, the thumb of said hand stroking gently up and down the nape of his neck as the other now bought the tankard from his lips.  
“It's ok, everything is ok. You're doing well, everything is fine,” the warrior murmured as he stroked his neck, surprisingly comforting and gentle, given his size. 

“You're doing well, big guy,” Bull smiled as he finally met Dorian's gaze, removing the hand from the mages neck and moving to refill the tankard from the pitcher of water that rested on the tray, surrounded by plates stacked with cuts of cooked meats, tiny steaming potatoes, bread and tiny cakes with lacey looking icing on them,

Dorian did not register his eyes widening, nor his mouth dropping open slightly as he caught sight of the food, his mouth beginning to water at the frankly indecent vision of delicious treats that lay before him.  
He involuntarily leant forward a little, catching Bulls eye as he moved to hand him back the now full tankard once more, a grin splitting the Qunari's face.

“You hungry by any chance?” he smiled, gaining Dorian's attention once more.

The mage turned away a little, a moment of shame, a feeling of vulnerability washing over him before he gave a small nod, averting his eyes from Bull.

“Hey, it's ok,” Bull reassured him with a smile, feeling his chest surge a little as Dorian sheepishly met his gaze again. “What would you like?”

Half an hour later, Dorian had demolished his chosen dishes with vigour, and the tray was now stacked with mostly empty plates, Bull playing maid and tidying up after the mage, yet not eating anything himself.

If Dorian had noticed, he had, so far, not said anything. The Tevinter had regained some colour in his face, his eyes looking a little less sunken than hey had been, his posture more natural, more normal.  
A soft, contented smile crossed his face as he sunk back against the pillows that propped him up, his eyes closing as a sigh escaped his lips.

His relaxation was somewhat interrupted by a fond sounding chuckle from Bull who had once again taken his place at the side of the bed.

Cracking one eye open, Dorian regarded the Qunari with no small measure of suspicion, though it was tinged with humour at the situation they now found themselves in.

“So, I suppose I now owe you some life debt or other,” Dorian sighed dramatically, closing his eyes and relaxing once again, shifting slightly against the bright, satin sheathed feather pillows he coveted so much.  
Another chuckle from Bull.

“I only bought you food, 'Vint. I didn't alter your life in any meaningful way,” Bull smiled, now reaching for one of the apples Dorian had left in one of the many bowls, bringing it to his lips and biting off nearly half of it in one motion.

Dorian swallowed, his chest tightening somewhat.  
Hadn't altered his life in any meaningful way?  
Well, maybe that's not the way it seemed, but somewhere, something in Dorian was rousing; emotions building and threatening to spill over.

No, to any normal person, an act like this would not seem overly special.  
But to one who had never experienced the care of another unless receiving something in return, it was perplexing, and, for some reason, strangely upsetting to the mage.

Bull noticed the change, ever vigilant.  
“Uh, so... how are you feeling, big guy?” he offered with an uneasy smile, concerned he had triggered one of Dorian's infamous moods.  
Unfortunately, it seemed he he was right.

“Yes, well, I am still half expecting to keel over at any moment due to poisoning. After all, isn't that how you Ben-Hassrath types operate? Gaining trust then slitting throats? It's practically your motto,” Dorian said quickly, his voice flat, eyes slipping open and now fixed on the ceiling above him, arms moving to cross at his chest, ignoring Bull's original question.

The barriers were definitely back up, if they had ever been down at all, Bull realized.

“Ok,” he tried, not wanting to push too hard. “Do you want to tell me how long you'd been in the library? Why you didn't want to leave? Red said you'd been there for... well, a few days, at least.”

“Oh, fantastic,” Dorian threw his hands up in the air in his usually dramatic fashion. “I have two spies butting into my business and spying on me. This is wonderful.” 

Bull regarded the mage with a somewhat hurt expression.  
“We're...” he didn't want to lie. “I've just been... concerned for you, Dorian,” Bull tried. “I know family stuff can be rough.”

Dorian turned to him now, fire in his eyes.  
“Oh, really?” he asked, anger apparently in his tone. “The Qunari, who was raised by Tamassrans, not a family, would understand fighting with your parents?”  
Bull frowned.  
“You know what I mean, I'm trying to empathise here, give me a break.”  
“I don't want your empathy,” Dorian spat. “I want to be left alone.”

Bull snorted.  
“What, so you can starve yourself and pass out in the library again? I can knock you out and put you back there myself, if that's what you want.”

This was not going at all how Bull planned, but Dorian knew exactly what buttons to push to get him going right now, though he still didn't understand why.

“Oh yes, I bet you'd like that,wouldn't you,” Dorian hissed at him, staring him down now. “Me, unconscious, defenseless. Maybe then you'd get out the thread and sew me up, keep me compliant. After all, that's where this was always going to go, wasn't it, Hissrad?”

Bull winced at the name, anger building in him. Dorian was really trying for a reaction now, and it hurt.

“You really still expecting a knife in the back?” he asked softly, trying to keep his temper in check. Dorian turned away from him now, finding the glass bottles that lined his wall much more fascinating than listening, apparently. “Even after all this time, after Haven, after the... after the dreadnought?”

Dorian stiffened somewhat, his demeanor beginning to fail at the hurt that resonated through Bull's last word.  
He was being out of line, and he knew it. Bull had just tried to help, to take care of him...

But he was on a roll now, unable to stop the poison spilling from his lips.

“Ah yes, the trap you led us into, how considerate. In all honesty, I wouldn't be surprised if you still were one of them, just another step to gain our trust, get closer to us all. After all, it's easier to slip the knife in that way.”

Dorian jumped as Bull stood up suddenly, upending the chair he had been sat on, his fists clenched, his shoulders tense, chest heaving, lips curled into a snarl and eyes narrowed in anger at the mage.

For a very small moment, Dorian saw something, some form of rage in his eyes as he took in Bull's form that made him fearful, suddenly very aware of how weak he currently was, how easy it would be for Bull to kill him, right here, right now.

“Fuck you, 'Vint,” he hissed, turning heel without another word, heading to the door.  
Dorian's heart was still pounding as the warrior flung the door open, slamming it shut with such force that the door frame shook.

Dorian let out a breath he didn't even realise he'd been holding, his chest pounding, his head swimming as the adrenaline rushed through his system. He took a deep breath, trying to centre himself.  
Shifting a little, he knocked the tray of now empty plates onto the floor.  
“Kaffas,” he muttered, sighing as he lifted the covers from his body, the chill of the room settling on his newly exposed skin. A shiver ran through him, regret beginning to settle on his mind as he replayed his words to Bull, over and over.

Setting his feet on the floor, he stood up slowly, cautiously, his leg shaking somewhat, blood rushing back up to his head. Ignoring the nausea, he began to move towards the end of the bed, trying to ignore the knocked over chair that was physical proof of the effectiveness of his harsh words. 

Head spinning, Dorian stumbled, falling down on one knee, hissing in pain as it made contact with the wooden beam floor, taking the impact of nearly is whole body.

“Vishante kaffas, Pavus, you are a giant ass,” he muttered to himself, the nausea he felt now triple, from the blood rush, the pain and the guilt rising through him.

It was only made worse as he looked to the tray, its contents scattered across the floor and noticed, in amongst some shattered crockery, a small, glimmering green serpentstone snake, rough carved angles glinting as they caught the sunlight streaming through the windows. 

Dorian reached for it, clutching it in his fingers delicately as he bought it towards himself.  
It was hand carved, the angles odd and jarring, but it was charming and beautiful, though rather on the large side.  
The mage's heart seemed to skip a beat; had Bull carved this, for him?

His chest felt hollow, nausea rising again.

He had seen the Qunari give out small carved gifts to Evie, to Varric, to Josephine, even to Solas once, beautiful little figurines that suited each of them spoke of their personality, seen him whittling them in the back of the tavern, his tongue poking out slightly, eyes squinting with concentration, usually one or two of the Chargers, Sera or Cole watching as he worked, fascinated how such large hands could create such delicate treasures.

Dorian bit his lip, tears beginning to well in his eyes.  
No-one was nice to him for no reason. No-one gave him gifts unless expecting something in return. Certainly, no-one cared for him, bought him food, made sure he was safe unless paid or ordered to... except Bull.

The tears began to fall now, fat droplets staining his cheeks as Dorian moved to stand, his muscles straining, painful.

He was a fool. A massive fool.  
And he would have to make this right. Somehow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies, that last chapter I didn't post translations because I am a derp. This has now been rectified! <3
> 
> Hope you enjoy! Please leave a comment if you like as it really helps with encouragement! :D


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bull doesn't quite understand, but he knows Dorian is hurting. He has always been one to look out for the well-being of others, and there is something between the two, though neither can quite place it yet.
> 
> Lots of hurt/comfort, feels and Dorian being stubborn.
> 
> Rated explicit for later chapters.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for (sort of) misgendering statements/phrasing within. (Don't know what to put it as but don't want to risk it!)
> 
> Bull is such a silly.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has left kudos and comments so far, I'm trying to keep regular with this! <3  
> Love you all!

“Ah, come on, Krem. Give me something to work with!”  
Bull let out a growl as his commander staggered back again, caught off guard with the ferocity of the Qunari's anger.  
“Give me a break, chief,” he panted, arm aching where the shield strap rested across his arm, the skin beginning to get sore from the constant assault. “We've been at this for hours!”

Bull only grunted a response, anger still driving him as he charged at Krem once more with his own shield up, focusing all of his aggression on the soldier.  
Their antics had drawn quite a crowd as the clacking of their shields got louder and louder, Bull's angry shouts drawing attention as well.

Cassandra sat on her reading stump, watching them with cautious curiosity, Sera perched on her roof, giggling occasionally, even Cullen was up on the battlements surveying the scene with a runner who had told him of the commotion happening down in the courtyard.

The crowd's presence was all too apparent as they let out a collective gasp when Bull collided with Krem once more, sending the young man toppling backwards.  
Above them, Sera cackled at the scene unfolding, Krem glaring up at the balcony, turning back to Bull and expecting a hand up, only to find him walking away, readying himself for another charge.

A hot rage began to rise up in Krem, tired and worn down from Bull's constant assault; he wasn't sure what had happened to make him this pissed off, but there was no way he should be taking it out on Krem.

“You gonna tell me what crawled up your ass and died then, Chief?” he goaded as he picked himself up again, straightening his shield.  
He didn't even have time to ready himself for the next assault before Bull was barreling into him once more, knocking him back into the dirt.  
That was it. Krem saw red.

“What the hell is your problem?” he shouted from the floor at Bull's retreating back. The Qunari stopped sharp, turning to face his commander, who hadn't made a move yet. Bull growled, marching back over to him.  
“My problem is your stance, Krem. You're sloppy,” Bull snarled, extending a hand to him.

Krem frowned, taking the proffered hand, a response dying on his tongue as Bull yanked him, hard, straining the muscles in his shoulder painfully and sending him toppling, face first into the dirt. Krem's jaw caught on the top of his shield as he fell, the sharp metal tearing at the skin of his chin.

Hissing in pain, he got to his feet once more, aggravated further by Sera's continuing giggling from the roof.  
Bull only glared at him, and that was the final straw.

Krem dropped his shield and swung at Bull, letting out a furious shout as he did, putting all his weight behind it. His fist contacted with Bull's jaw, letting out a satisfying crack.

Out of the corner of his eye, Krem saw Cassandra begin to move towards them.

The blow caught Bull off guard, twisting his head to the left, and now, he turned back to his commander, teeth bared, eyes narrowed.

“That all you got, Krem? Come on, lay it on me,” he growled. The tevinter shook his head, fists now clenched at his side.

“I don't know what the hell I'm supposed to have done, but I'm done being your punching back,” Krem all but yelled, the courtyard now silent, Sera looking down with a worried face, the crowd murmuring to each other, concerned about where this was going.

“Believe it or not, _Cremisius_ ,” Bull hissed, eyes fixed on the commander as he bent to pick his shield up once more, “not everything has to be about you.”

Krem let out a growl as he swung again, anger coursing through him.  
Somewhere in his mind, he noted that this wasn't right; Bull was not a malicious person, but something was up, and if he wasn't willing to share, he needed to work out his anger in a different way, rather than pushing buttons.

His fist connected with Bull's face again, staggering him a little. It would bruise, Krem thought, triumphantly. And it was deserved too.

Bull turned back, snarling once more. “Come on, Krem, is that it? You hit like a girl.”

Krem felt his stomach drop, like he'd missed a stair on the way down, his legs suddenly like jelly.

 

The instant the words left Bull's lips, the Qunari dropped his shield, his demeanour changing instantly.  
“Krem...” he began, but the commander turned to him with furious eyes.

“Fuck you,” Krem yelled, unbridled fury coursing through him now. He felt sick, he had to run. “Fuck you, you fucking beast.”

The Tevinter threw his shield to the ground and headed into the tavern, head bowed, eyes beginning to water. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!” Bull cursed, turning and punching the wall of the tavern behind him. The crowd in the courtyard began to disperse, suddenly unsure of how Bull would react, many scurrying away as quickly as they could.

“Bull!” Cassandra was next to him now, looking hesitant but determined. “That was uncalled for,” she stated, leaving no room for argument.

“I know. I fucked up,” Bull sighed angrily, scraping his horns against the brickwork as he lent his forehead on the wall of the tavern. “Just... fuck...” He felt sick to his stomach; Krem was one of his closest friends. How could he be so thoughtless?  
He'd just been so angry...

“Yes, well,” Cassandra said, sympathetic despite her disapproval. “You may want to cool off before training any more. And work on your apologies, for goodness sake.”  
Bull nodded as he stood up from the wall, taking a deep breath.

Today had truly been a shit day, but he shouldn't have taken it out on Krem.  
No. If anyone was to be blamed for today, it was him. He was so _off_ recently, and he couldn't put his finger on why.  
First, completely misreading Dorian and engaging in an argument with him despite knowing he was not in a fit mental state, letting it escalate and now, insulting one of his closest friends in the worst way he knew how.

Growling to himself, Bull shook his head, as if trying to disperse the cloud of negativity over his head.

“Maybe you should talk to someone,” Cassandra suggested. Bull jerked his head up, surprised; he'd almost forgotten she was there. “There are other ways to work out your issues than violence.”

Bull snorted a response, coming off as rude, though that was not his intention, another pang of regret as Cassandra huffed and began to move back to her usual haunt by the training dummy, though started to head back inside as fat drops of rain began to fall from the overcast sky above them. 

This was the third day that the stormy rain-clouds had persisted above Skyhold, and Bull was beginning to think they may well be connected to Dorian's mood, if the rumours circulating about the shouting at the mage had given Evie when she had tried to talk him out had any truth to them.

 _Dorian..._  
This was all his fault... he'd put Bull in such a foul mood.

Sighing again, Bull shook his head at his own thoughts;  
He was in control of his words and actions, not Dorian. There was no way, after all the years of dealing with shit that had been thrown at him, that he should allow something like this to take root in his mind, to break down relationships hard fought and built.

He had to apologize, not only to Krem, but he made a mental note to apologize to Cassandra later, not only because she had tried to help, but Bull knew better than to be on the wrong side of that strength.

His thought process was rudely interrupted by a small objects,impacting his head at high velocity. Bull growled, looking up to see where it had come from, suddenly angry; this was the last thing he needed.

“Oi, arseface.” Oh, great. Sera.  
Bull grumbled, looking down to see what she had thrown at him – it turned out to be a rock hard cookie with some kind of white fluff growing on it.  
“Not now, Sera,” he growled, moving to stalk his way into the tavern once more, hoping Krem was still around to apologize to.

Another impact on his skull had him stopping dead in his tracks, rage filling his mind as he swung his gaze to the roof, finding the lithe blonde archer now perched on the edge of the tiles, returning his angry gaze.  
“You're gonna want to get your arse up here, right now if you wanna keep it, 'cos if you don't, I'm gonna friggin' drag you up 'ere myself, got it?” she all but screeched, launching several more cookies at Bull as the pitch of her voice rose, finally disappearing back into her room as she ran out of ammunition. Bull raised his arm to defend himself from the barrage, anger fading to mild humiliation.

He'd survived Seheron, dammit. He was a decorated veteran, not someone who should be pelted with rotting cookies.  
Saying that, he was also not someone who said such cruel words to close friends either.

Maybe a good bollocking was what he needed for some perspective.

Resigning himself to a very loud next few minutes, Bull hung his head, heaving a sigh as he trudged towards the tavern door.

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that started out as an idea for a drabble (like most of my fics) and just kind of snowballed!
> 
> I am updating this and my other fics as regularly as I can, but between having a 4 month old baby, going back to work off maternity leave, finishing a game I've been making and trying to twitch stream whenever I can, it's been a bit manic!  
> Anyway, enough about my life!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed, please leave a comment if you did or if you have any suggestions or creative criticism!  
> Thank you!


End file.
